The Blood of Brothers
by Ariel D
Summary: SANDSIBS fic. What does it mean to be brothers? Gaara didn’t used to consider Kankuro his brother, but their relationship has slowly changed. Can they cement their bond? Set post Shippuuden ep. 32. Now the first story in a series.
1. Chapter 1

**The Blood of Brothers**

By Ariel D

_Description: What does it mean to be brothers? Gaara didn't used to consider Kankuro his brother, but their relationship has slowly changed. Can they cement their bond? Set post Shippuuden ep. 32._

_Disclaimer: Gaara and the Naruto-verse are copyrighted by Masashi Kishimoto and Weekly Shonen Jump. I am making no profit; this is just for fun._

_A/N: Not YAOI. Very much an exploration of brotherly love. As this is my first Naruto fanfic, be patient with me as I delve into their relationship, and I promise to give you guys my best._

* * *

**Chapter One: A Smile**

At first, Gaara noticed a tiny change he couldn't explain. It happened a week after he'd been returned to life by Elder Chiyo. Even with Shukaku gone, Gaara had not been able to bring himself to sleep, so he spent his nights catching up on paperwork he missed during his abduction. This night proved no different; the Kazekage sat at his desk surrounded by the uniform beige of his office walls and watched a beam of moonlight stretch across the stack of documents and scrolls at his elbow. Outside, the desert wind whipped around buildings in mournful wails. A sandstorm was likely passing near them.

_I used to consider that sound appropriate for such a dead and cold village,_ Gaara mused, _but now I rarely notice it anymore._

A knock sounded on the Kazekage's office door, and Kankuro's voice came through the wood. "Yo, Gaara, it's me." He let himself inside, not waiting for any kind of permission. Then again, he really didn't need permission.

Gaara, who was bored senseless by all the eventless border patrol reports, glanced up at his older brother and felt relieved.

Relieved . . .

Kankuro hesitated for a moment as though he'd been surprised by something, then smiled. "You gotta be kidding me, man. Paperwork at midnight? Even you need a break sometimes."

Gaara gazed at Kankuro, wondering at his own feelings. Why should it matter to him that his older brother saw fit to check on him? Yet somehow Gaara felt reenergized. "After tonight, I should be caught up. I never imagined the amount of reading and stamping a Kazekage would have to do." Indeed, the list was endless: supply reports, tactical reports, patrol reports, mission reports, and dozens of others Gaara didn't care to consider at the moment.

Kankuro grabbed a chair from the corner and pulled it up to the side of the desk. "Well, I never paid attention to Father's workload, or I would've warned you. I guess you didn't notice either, huh?"

Gaara's gaze dropped to his desk, which was piled with documents and scrolls. His official stamp sat before him, much like his father's had in the past. He didn't like to think about that man, to remember his cold eyes and sneer. "Definitely not."

An awkward silence fell as Gaara frowned to himself. In his mind's eye, he saw his father glaring down at him after he'd killed frightened and drunken villagers in the street as a child. Gaara took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, pushing aside the memory. This was one of the many reasons he didn't want to sleep, but without Shukaku's supernatural power and energy in him, Gaara knew it was only a matter of time before his body demanded the rest. However, he wanted to avoid as long as possible the nightmares he suspected would come.

Suddenly, a warm hand touched his arm. Gaara glanced up at Kankuro in surprise and found a sad smile on his older brother's face.

"Sorry," Kankuro said. "I didn't mean to bring _him_ up."

Gaara blinked and glanced back at the hand, which had longer fingers and a larger palm: Kankuro's hand, muscled from practicing puppet manipulation and tanned from hours spent under the desert sun.

Kankuro snatched away his hand with a nervous laugh. "Uh, sorry."

Gaara started to speak, struck with the sudden, irrational impulse to tell his brother that he didn't have to remove his hand, but the words died in his throat. "It's fine."

Leaning back in his chair, Kankuro rubbed his palms against his black pants. "Actually, I'm here because Tamari and I are worried about the way you're refusing to sleep. Without Shukaku, you have no reason to avoid it, and your body and mind will both —"

"I _know_that." Gaara cringed internally; he hadn't meant to cut off his brother so abruptly.

Kankuro's shoulders stiffened, and Gaara felt strangely irritated with himself. He hated that tenseness; it reminded him too much of before. A mere three years ago, he would have taken satisfaction in putting Kankuro in his place, but now it disturbed him when his brother became uneasy around him. He didn't want to see that look of fear ever again . . . to see people running away from him just because he spoke to them. He didn't want to hurt others or have others be afraid he'd hurt them.

Gaara sighed quietly. "What I meant to say is that I realize I have to sleep, but I'm not sure I want to." He frowned, realizing he hadn't explained it well. "When you sleep, you dream, right?"

"Yeah." Kankuro visibly relaxed again, his shoulders dropping.

"Are dreams like memories?"

Kankuro's eyes widened faintly. "Oh, well, in a way. Dreams can include memories of the past or projections of the future. They're often mixed up and don't make sense to you when you wake up."

"Mixed up?" Gaara didn't like the sound of that.

Kankuro turned his gaze to the window behind Gaara. "Yeah." His eyes glazed over as though he were deep in thought. "You might dream something weird like being at the chunin exams and seeing our mom there even though she couldn't have been."

That settled that. "I'll go as long as I can without sleeping, then."

Kankuro glanced back at him in surprise. "It doesn't have to be bad."

_Not bad? _Gaara thought, although he didn't voice the words. Distracting himself, he stared at his brother with his face paint and cat-eared hood. Oddly, he was grateful that Kankuro preferred to dress like a performer, since without the paint and hood he looked too much like their father. Gaara realized abruptly didn't want to see anything of their father in Kankuro.

Apparently assuming Gaara's silence was caused by disbelief, Kankuro elaborated. "Hey, everyone has nightmares, but not all dreams are bad. A lot of people don't even remember their dreams when they wake up."

Gaara felt it again — that same twinge of relief he'd felt when Kankuro had first entered the room. He knew it wasn't Kankuro's words that made him feel better because he honestly believed that he would have nothing but nightmares. That only left one option: it was Kankuro's effort to reassure him that sparked the reaction.

But why? What did it mean?

Gaara set aside the confusing questions that his emotions caused him. "I'll try to remember that," he murmured. "I have to finish this paperwork, but later this week I'll consider your — and Temari's — request."

Kankuro smiled. "Fair enough." He stood and grabbed his chair, dragging it back to the corner. "But try to at least rest before morning, if nothing else."

Gaara nodded, and Kankuro bid him a good night. However, instead of finishing his paperwork, Gaara stared at the door, pondering why his brother's visit had improved his mood even though their discussion had not been on a pleasant topic. All he could determine was that their words weren't what mattered; they could have spoken about anything.

If that was so, then what did matter? Why did he have this feeling of relief or comfort?

* * *

Kankuro had meant to go to bed after checking on his younger brother, but after speaking with Gaara, he felt too restless to sleep. Instead, he retired to his workshop, where he both modified and created puppets, and walked up to his workbench. Behind him, wood files, saws, and cans of paint lined one wall and the slumped forms of puppets covered the other. Before him on the worktable lay the wolf puppet he was carving, feeling unwilling to face the onerous task of rebuilding the puppets Sasori had destroyed. He absently picked up the wolf, running his fingers across the wood to check for rough spots. However, he ignored his tools and ended up staring at the wolf.

"He smiled," Kankuro whispered to the apathetic puppet. Gaara rarely smiled or made any other facial expression, and so the few times Gaara did smile, no matter how faint, it never failed to stun Kankuro. _He hasn't known much happiness,_he admitted to himself, although he hoped that the way the villagers had rushed to save their Kazekage proved to Gaara that things had changed.

Kankuro set his new puppet back down. _He smiled when I walked into the room. It was faint — he just lifted up one corner of his mouth — but he smiled like he was actually happy to see me._For most of his life, he'd never imagined that he could mean anything to his brother, so the mental image burned itself into Kankuro's brain: those aqua-green eyes gazing at him serenely, that small curve to his lips. No doubt about it: Gaara had been happy to see him, and he was cut to the core by those eyes and that smile.

"The child inside," Kankuro muttered to himself, finally picking up sandpaper and sanding the wolf puppet's back. Tiny flecks coated his fingers as he worked, and although the dust sometimes irritated his nose, the smell of wood was comforting. _With the bijuu gone, it's like Gaara is recovering some lost part of himself. I swear it's like I'm seeing his softer side._

A softer side, a kinder side . . . for all Gaara's strength and bloody past, he still had a wounded heart that no one had understood until Naruto. And Kankuro knew that heart was still vulnerable to the people around Gaara, even if he no longer showed it outwardly. However, Kankuro could read into his brother's silences, his frowns, and his sparse words. He had spent his childhood analyzing them for the purposes of self-preservation, and now he used his knowledge to sense his brother's moods and reactions. The smile, then, had been tantamount to a loud exclamation — one he wanted to see more and more of.

Kankuro squeezed the sandpaper tight in his fist. "_I'll_ protect you this time." He scowled, still hurting from the fact he'd been unable to save Gaara from his abductor. He never wanted to fail his brother that way again; the image of Deidara carrying Gaara away played a starring role in his own nightmares. The desperation he'd felt in that moment, knowing his brother was in mortal danger and that he couldn't help him, had hurt enough to make him nauseated. It had almost been too painful to bear.

However, he knew he was driven by more than the desire to save Gaara from physical danger. _I also don't want to be like Uncle Yashamaru,_ he thought, knowing what had secured the loss of Gaara's smile. _I won't crush what you offer to me. _Irritated by the thought of Yashamaru's assassination attempt, Kankuro tossed down the sandpaper and wolf. He had trouble imagining what Gaara must have felt that day.

Of course, when Kankuro had first overheard the household servants speak of the assassination attempt years later, when Kankuro was twelve and Gaara was ten, he'd only felt sorry the attempt had failed. Thanks to Gaara, he and his sister had begun to live in fear. However, the older he became, the more disgusted he'd been by his uncle's heartless behavior; it reminded him too much of the way his father had so easily sacrificed his mother in order to create his living weapon. Finally, upon seeing Gaara's efforts to change, Kankuro had found himself trying to imagine how a six-year-old child would have felt to have his uncle try to kill him. As a result, Kankuro wished Yashamaru was still alive so he could beat him to death.

He had never felt this way about anyone. Because Temari was older than he and equally strong, he'd never felt the need to protect her, although he did still worry about her overall wellbeing. However, Gaara — especially this new Gaara who was working so hard to connect with people — inspired powerful feelings that Kankuro had difficulty understanding.

"You're my little brother," was all Kankuro could say to the absent Gaara. _I'll get you through your nightmares, I promise._He sighed, thinking back to the conviction he had felt when he told the council that Gaara was his little brother, not just the Kazekage. His conviction had only grown since then.

_I meant what I said that day,_ Kankuro told himself. _Gaara is family, and I will see him through anything._

* * *

_A/N: Thank you to anyone who reads and/or reviews. My chapters are usually three times longer than this, but I'm keeping the chapters short for this story. Still feels odd… Oh, well. I hope you enjoy._

Thank you to Darkhelmetj for beta reading.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: Ties that Bind**

Gaara stepped onto the upper balcony of the Kazekage's mansion that had passed from his father's hands to his — the mansion he shared with Temari and Kankuro. Once his father had reassessed Gaara's value to the village, the Fourth Kazekage had taken him into this home, and once their father had been killed by Orochimaru, Gaara and his siblings had been allowed to remain there until the Fifth Kazekage was named. Now, the mansion was securely in Gaara's possession.

From the balcony, Gaara had a beautiful view of the desert sunset. Crimson rays highlighted the domed house roofs and caused the city parapets to glow, and in the distance, the sun also tinted the mountains, crowning them with a scarlet halo. Distantly, Gaara could hear the excited cries and laughter of children. The scene was peaceful and invited him to relax in the cool evening breeze.

However, he couldn't relax. He knew the time was quickly approaching that he would have to sleep whether he wanted to or not, and with all his paperwork finished, he had no task that could excuse him from trying. What was more, he wanted to discuss sleeping and dreaming with Kankuro in more detail, but his brother had been away all day on a spying mission.

Away on a mission . . . Gaara frowned, realizing for the first time that if Kankuro failed to return from a mission, if he died —

Gaara's heart ached, and he pressed his hands to his temples in a gesture remnant of his days fighting Shukaku's attacks. In his mind's eye, he saw Kankuro smiling, the grin underscored by his purple face paint. Once again, he heard his brother's surprising words after he'd been revived from death: _"You're a little brother I'll always have to worry about, huh?"_ He'd been unsure how to even react; Kankuro had been worried for him? It was something Gaara had always dreamed could be true but never imagined would happen. "Don't die on me," he muttered without thinking, not wanting to lose such a precious opportunity.

"What was that?" asked a voice behind him.

Gaara dropped his hands and glanced over his shoulder, shocked that anyone had managed to sneak up on him. "Kankuro?"

His brother stood in the doorway, but at Gaara's exclamation, he stepped onto the balcony. "Sorry, man. Didn't mean to startle you. You must've been deep in thought." He gestured at the younger boy's head. "Or do you have a headache? I saw you clutching your head."

Gaara turned away and gazed back at the sunset. "No. Just deep in thought, as you said."

An awkward pause followed, and Gaara knew his brother sensed his evasion.

Kankuro stepped up beside him and leaned his elbows on the railing. "So, did you try to sleep last night?"

Gaara frowned. "I didn't finish the paperwork until this evening."

"I knew you'd say that." Kankuro smiled, clearly amused. "Really, though, I promise sleep isn't bad."

Gaara shrugged. "I'm not worried about sleeping." _I'm worried about dreaming. I don't want to be forced to live through those memories over and over._

Kankuro straightened and grabbed Gaara's shoulders, slowly turning him toward him. "Hey, it's all right. I know — it's more about dreaming. But I just don't want you to put it off too long and exhaust yourself."

His brother's show of concern made Gaara feel oddly warm, and not understanding the feeling, he wouldn't meet his brother's gaze. He stared at the cat ears on his hood instead. "You don't have to worry about me, you know." However, dead silence met this proclamation, and Gaara snapped his attention to Kankuro's face to see what was wrong.

Kankuro frowned. "Of course I have to worry about you. I'm supposed to. It's not a problem."

Gaara blinked, mystified. Worry was normal? _How strange,_ he thought. _Does this mean that preemptive fear is connected to wanting to protect someone?_ He didn't feel such fear for the village; he simply knew he had to protect it at any cost. "Why do you have to worry about me?"

Hesitating momentarily, Kankuro grasped Gaara's hand, turning it over as he did. With his free hand, he pointed to the blue blood vessels visible in Gaara's wrist. "Do you see these veins?"

Gaara stared at his pale hand in Kankuro's tanned one, and to his surprise, his heart hurt at the warm touch. He blinked and forced himself to focus on his veins. "Yes."

"This blood in your veins is also in mine." Kankuro turned over his own wrist to expose his veins. "We're the same blood, the same flesh."

Gaara looked up and met Kankuro's gaze, stunned by the passion in his brother's voice.

"I don't care that our father separated us when you were born," Kankuro continued. "And although things were weird when we were kids, I totally stopped caring that you had bijuu sealed inside you. I also don't care that you once told me that you don't consider me your brother. It doesn't matter." He paused, looking faintly embarrassed, and looked away. "You're my little brother," he said in a quiet voice, "so I'll always be concerned about you."

More pain shot through Gaara's chest, crushing his lungs until he couldn't breathe. Just as he had as a child, he unconsciously raised his free hand and covered his heart — the one part of himself he could identify as wounded. Kankuro never spoke to him this openly, never shared his feelings so bluntly — not on topics like this. But now . . . _I said such hateful things to him in the past, yet he says he'll always care for me._

Gaara's gaze fell to his hand, which Kankuro still held, and he focused on his exposed wrist. The blue veins wavered slightly in his sight, and he realized tears stood in his eyes. Horrified at this uncharacteristic show of emotion, he quickly held the tears back. "I apologize for saying that to you. Back then, I —"

Kankuro looked back at him. "I know," he said, squeezing his hand. "You went and changed on me, and all for the better. I'm glad you found something to believe in. That's enough. You don't have to apologize for the person you used to be."

But Gaara wanted to apologize. He wanted his brother to know how sorry he was for treating him cruelly for so many years; he wanted Kankuro and Temari both to know it. He wanted to tell Kankuro that he did consider him his brother now, that he wanted him as a brother. However, his chest burnt with such pain that his throat constricted, and no words would come. _Where do I even begin?_ he wondered. _How do I begin to explain all of this?_

Gaara heard Kankuro exhale softly and make a sound like "Hn," but he wasn't sure what that meant. Was he just reacting to some internal thought?

Kankuro stepped closer, pulling on Gaara's wrist as he did. Gaara stumbled slightly and glanced up in surprise, trying to determine Kankuro's intention. Kankuro reached toward him with his other hand, but he abruptly halted mid-motion and blushed.

"Uh . . . sorry." He patted Gaara on the shoulder and released his hand. He looked toward the setting sun and tugged at his uniform, clearly embarrassed and uncomfortable. "I didn't mean to — Well, I mean I was just trying to say that it's all right."

Gaara felt cold when Kankuro released him, almost as though he'd lost something. The sensation jarred him. "Thank you."

Kankuro glanced back at him and smiled, but Gaara saw sadness in his eyes. _Sadness?_ Gaara wondered. _Did I somehow manage to hurt him again? Please, no._

Kankuro stepped back. "Hey, no problem. Now just promise me you'll seriously consider sleeping tonight."

"I'll think about it." Gaara felt colder and colder. He didn't want Kankuro to leave; he knew they needed to say something more to one another. However, he didn't know what those words would be, and he couldn't think of any other reason to delay his brother's departure.

Kankuro nodded. "Good. If you have any problems, feel free to seek me out. I can't imagine having to learn how to sleep and dream." He shrugged one shoulder. "But, hey, I've been dreaming my whole life, so I'm sure I can handle anything that happens."

Gaara felt some relief at those words. "Of course."

Kankuro nodded once more then left. Gaara stared at his back as he walked away and almost called out after him.

Almost.

However, Kankuro didn't need him and his odd problems, Gaara knew. Kankuro had a life of his own, and Gaara as Kazekage had to face situations by himself. Alone. That's what power meant, regardless of its type. Being at the top always meant being isolated, even if people did need him now. Gaara had realized that Naruto's strength came from having people to care about and protect, but after feeling the need to call out to Kankuro, Gaara wondered if part of Naruto's strength also came from having people who cared about him. Unfortunately, Naruto was not present to be questioned, so Gaara turned away from the sunset and walked inside to face the night alone.

* * *

Kankuro escaped to his workshop, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it. Puppet after puppet hung along the left wall, and tools hung on the right. Wooden recreations of people, monsters, and animals gazed down at him with lifeless eyes, and the newest puppet, the wolf, stared at him from the worktable.

He stared back at the wolf and took a deep breath, trying to ease his pain. His arms absolutely _ached_ with the need to hug Gaara. Seeing Gaara hurting and near tears had nearly ripped Kankuro's heart out through his ribs. He had wanted to pull his younger brother into his arms, hold him against his chest, and rub his back until he felt better. After years of wanting to either flee from Gaara or beat him to a pulp, now Kankuro suddenly felt the desire to comfort him, protect him, be everything to him that both an older brother and father could be. Now that his younger brother had worked so hard to change, Kankuro wanted to fill the hole in Gaara's life — the hole that only Naruto truly understood yet blood could help heal.

But he couldn't. Kankuro had started to hug him, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Gaara was so stoic, so . . . He radiated a sense of aloofness and impermeability that demanded that people honor his personal space. His aura of confidence, of power, commanded respect and forced others to stand back. Kankuro wasn't sure Gaara wanted to be hugged, that Gaara would want his personal space violated or would appreciate being protected. The Fifth Kazekage did not need protecting: he hadn't needed it in the past, and he didn't even need it now while he recovered from Shukaku's loss.

_He doesn't want me to baby him,_ Kankuro told himself roughly. He clenched his fists and bowed his head. _I'm his older brother, but he doesn't really need me. I'll stand by him anyway, but he — he wouldn't want anyone to touch him. He doesn't need my comfort. He respects my skills as a shinobi, and he'll fight by my side now. But —_

Kankuro sighed and walked over to his worktable. Once again, he sat down, picked up sandpaper and the wolf, and began sanding the puppet's back. He needed to think rationally; he needed to calm down. "I am technically Gaara's subject," he explained to the wolf. To himself. "I have to treat him with respect. He sees it as his job to protect me since I'm a member of this village, not the other way around. It's my duty to support him and his position. I can't be —"

Unable to contain his irritation, Kankuro threw down the wolf and stood abruptly, sending his stool skidding backwards. "But I'm his older brother!" he yelled at the nameless, faceless people he imagined would admonish him. Rules. Duty. Structure. Society. It was unfair to restrict him that way. The position of Kazekage be damned; blood was blood.

Kankuro sank to the floor and sat on his haunches. "I'm your older brother," he whispered to the young man who couldn't hear him. "I want to protect you."

Kankuro rubbed his hands against his face in frustration, accidentally smearing his face paint in the process. He sighed and let his hands fall to the ground. In the dim lighting of the room, the purple paint looked like splotches of blood on his fingers. _Can I reach out to you? Will you let me?_

_Let me be the one . . ._

* * *

_A/N: Once again, thank you to anyone who reads and/or reviews and to all the people who commented on or faved chapter one. I realize the concept of Gaara trying to sleep for the first time is not a new one, but the point of this story is not to be unique but rather to focus on the bond of two brothers during a tense situation._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: Will You Be Here for Me Tomorrow?**

Gaara stood in the doorway between his bathroom and his bedroom. The expansive room had once belonged to his father, and once Gaara had become Kazekage, his siblings had insisted he take the room. Gaara understood the reasoning behind the gesture, but he'd never been comfortable with the decision. The few household servants in their employ — the two women and one man who had served under the Forth Kazekage — had insisted on redecorating the room for its new owner, and Gaara had let them. Still, it didn't feel like his room any more than his old room had. After all, he never had slept in it.

This night the room seemed even more foreign. The cold blues that had once decorated the room — the color always associated with the Kazekage — had been replaced with warm reds and golds: thick crimson rugs accented the wooden floor, and gold velvet chairs stood in the corners. A mahogany desk occupied the far wall along with a mahogany bookcase. Gaara could tell the women had an eye for décor and had probably wanted the room to feel homier, but he felt as though he were standing in the doorway of an inn and not a personal room.

However, the king-sized bed drew Gaara's attention most. The crimson, silk bedspread had never been turned back. Gaara had never even sat on the bed or moved one of the sausage-shaped pillows. He'd spent a few nights at the desk and an occasional evening in one of the chairs. But the bed might as well have not been there.

With a sigh, Gaara walked over to the bed and yanked back the covers. Crisp linen sheets presented themselves for inspection — sheets that had never been slept upon. Gaara frowned and reached up to run one hand over the satin nightshirt he'd donned. The maidservant had left it for him. The woman had a way of giggling and blushing when she saw him, and Gaara suspected she'd bought the red nightshirt and pants to match his hair.

Women really did mystify him. The only one he could understand was Temari, and she'd always been a tomboy. She didn't giggle or blush around boys or try to look demure; she always just spoke her mind.

Sighing once more, Gaara turned out his bedside lamp and climbed in bed. Lying on his back, he crossed his hands over his stomach and stared at the ceiling, which was illuminated by the moonlight pouring through his window. It was time: he had to face the concept of sleeping. He'd never been one to run away from problems; in fact, for most of his life he'd slaughtered any problems that got in his way. This time should be no exception. What was, was, and he planned to fight his dreams as well.

Gaara closed his eyes, wondering how long it would take him to fall asleep. Would it take long? Would he dream right away, or would he even be able to track the passing of time? Putting himself to sleep in order to release Shukaku had been an intense but short-lived blackness. This time it might be different . . .

With these thoughts, Gaara drifted off and for the first time in his life dreamt.

* * *

In his dream, Gaara was six again, kneeling by his injured uncle's side and crying. "You were under orders to kill me, then?"

Yashamaru smirked. "No . . . I wanted to."

Young Gaara knew what would come next. The words were already echoing in his mind: _No, I wanted to because I hated you for killing my sister. Your mother hated you and cursed you with her dying breath._ Gaara bowed his head, struggling against the dream but unable to stop the words he didn't wish to hear.

"I wanted to," Yashamaru continued, saying the dreaded words, "because I never considered you my brother."

Gaara gasped and looked back at his uncle. However, Yashamaru was no longer Yashamaru. It was Kankuro who lay dying, sand burns on his face and blood dripping from the corners of his mouth.

"Kan . . . kuro . . ." Gaara whispered, horrified. He clutched at his heart, and his clothes ripped under the pressure. "Please . . . not you!"

Kankuro turned his gaze toward him. His face was clear of paint, but blood poured down each side of his nose from his forehead. He wore Yashamaru's vest and clothes instead of his own bunraku outfit, and his eyes also held Yashamaru's same resignation and hatred.

"I tried to love you," he said, his voice raspy. "I really did. You were my one and only little brother, and I've always known it wasn't your fault that you killed our mother." Kankuro spoke slowly, each word enunciated with terrible determination and conviction. "But you were never anything other than a monster, even though you wore a human face, so I couldn't help it. I found myself hating you and accepted this mission in order to avenge Mother's death."

Young Gaara began sobbing so hard his chest hurt. His head seemed to ring with the anguish, causing him to smash his fists against his temples. "No!" he choked out. "You said you cared! You said we were of the same flesh and blood, that we —"

"I said what brothers are supposed to say," Kankuro said, blood oozing from his mouth with each word. He reached up with one shaking hand and unzipped his vest to reveal the explosive tags underneath.

Gaara noticed that his sand was gone — both the sand he'd crushed Kankuro with and his gourd. _That's right,_ he thought, dazed, _Shukaku is gone. This time I can let the explosion kill me. _He dropped his hands from his temples, letting them fall into his lap. "Kankuro," he whispered, his pain so intense that he shook with it. He lifted his face toward the sky as tears streaked down his cheeks. "Do it. Kill me."

The explosion lit the night like a midnight sun.

* * *

Gaara jolted awake and without thinking threw off his covers and tried to climb out of bed. However, his body was oddly heavy, as though sleep were still trying to claim his limbs, and he stumbled and fell on his knees to the floor. His eyes felt sewn together, making him fight to keep them open, and his mind refused to clear, causing everything to seem slow motion and hazy. He felt as though he would be dragged back into sleep against his will.

"No," he choked out, desperate to avoid the nightmare realm. "_No._" Adrenaline pumped into his veins, enabling him to move more freely, and he clutched at his chest with one hand, covering his heart. The nightmare cycled through his mind, punishing him with images of his brother cursing him, and the hand over his heart trembled with his pain. Everything seemed warped and wrong — the furniture too tall, the shadows too wide, the world too evil — and he hoped that he wasn't still dreaming.

_Why did I dream that?_ He tried to control his thoughts, but his mind began racing. _What if it's true? No, it was a dream, not real. But people say dreams can reflect reality._ Suddenly, he didn't feel real. _Who . . . am I? What is this feeling?_ That strange void he'd hovered in for an eternally suspended moment seemed to break into reality, confusing him. He pulled his hand away from his chest and rubbed his fingers together, but he couldn't feel his own skin. _What is . . . Gaara?_

Dream, reality, death, the world in between . . . all the realms seemed to touch each other in that moment.

Vaguely, he realized he needed help. Forcing himself to stand, Gaara headed toward his door. He wove unsteadily like a drunk, not even feeling the hardwood floor beneath his feet, but he had to climb upstairs to the second-story bedrooms. He had to talk to Kankuro immediately.

_Why?_ he wondered as he jerked his door open and headed down the hallway. _Why did Yashamaru have to turn into Kankuro?_ Gaara put his hand against the wall to steady himself; he body felt as though he were wearing his sand armor. He blinked several times, trying to clear his blurry vision, but his eyes wouldn't cooperate. _Am I on the verge of falling asleep again? No, I refuse to return to that nightmare world._ But for a moment, all he could see was the image of himself as a child, crouching on the cracked ground, crying.

Gaara reached the staircase and stumbled up the steps. When he reached Kankuro's bedroom door, he stopped short and stared at the wood. Could he really do this? Could he awaken his brother over a dream? But the images were growing stronger, not fading, and if he'd learned anything, it was that people couldn't remain alone.

Hesitating, Gaara pressed his hand to the cold wooden door, trying to actually feel and comprehend its existence. His legs were still trembling from his earlier adrenaline rush, and in his mind, all he could see was Kankuro's bloody face and bitter gaze. The image kicked him in the chest, scaring him with its brutality and finality, and he could taste aluminum in his mouth, as though his fear had a metallic flavor.

_I have to see him. I have to talk to him._ Gaara clenched his hand into a fist to knock, only to pause. _He's going to think I'm weak. No, no. He said to ask him if I had questions. I just won't tell him the details._ He inhaled sharply and knocked on the door; however, he hit harder than he intended, causing the bang to echo down the hall.

Embarrassed, Gaara considered turning back immediately, but the sound — so loud in the silence of the night — caused him to freeze. A pause followed, and then Kankuro's sleepy voice came through the door.

"Come in!"

Gaara exhaled a breath he didn't realize he was holding and reached for the doorknob. His hand still shook; the entire world seemed to vibrate. _No good, no good. Is this even real? _He forced himself to open the door, step inside, and close it behind him; however, he kept his gaze on the floor. The moon shone through the window and created a path of light across the wood, and he wondered belatedly if he should have turned on the lights when he first awakened. Maybe it would have helped him clear his mind and get in touch with reality.

From the corner of his vision, Gaara saw Kankuro sit up in bed and yawn. His spiky brown hair was tousled, and he rubbed one hand through it.

"Gaara?" he asked, obviously groggy, then paused. When he spoke again, surprise and concern colored his tone. "What's wrong?"

Gaara crossed his arms over his stomach. "I managed to sleep." Although his voice seemed far away to him, he realized he sounded thready and cleared his throat. "It . . . wasn't pleasant."

Kankuro pushed back his covers and slid to the edge of the bed. "I'm not surprised. People who lose a lot of sleep usually have nightmares at first; in your case, nightmares would be inevitable."

Gaara clenched his jaw, swallowing the questions he wanted to ask. "In the dream, I . . ." He couldn't say it. He couldn't reveal his horror, his anguish, his fear. It was a weakness Kankuro could exploit in the same way Yashamaru had when he'd attempted to assassinate him.

"Gaara?" Kankuro now sounded alarmed. "Was it that bad?"

Gaara hunched over slightly as his stomach cramped with pain; he tightened his arms around himself. _Can a dream hurt this much? But the nightmare I had involved pain . . ._

Kankuro stood. "It was only a dream. I can't imagine how bad it must be for you, but I promise it can't hurt you."

_It already hurts!_

"Gaara?"

Gaara forced himself to raise his head and look at his brother. In the moonlight, he could clearly see Kankuro's worry: his brow was furrowed, and he was frowning.

The instant their eyes met, Gaara was captured in Kankuro's gaze. He couldn't look away even though he knew his face had to be contorted in pain. His brother's eyes widened, and he inhaled sharply.

"G-Gaara!" Kankuro moved abruptly, as though snapped out of a trance. He ran across the room, grabbed Gaara by the arms, and pulled him against his chest, wrapping his arms around his little brother.

Without thinking, Gaara jerked backward, trying to free himself, then froze. For a tense moment, neither of them moved, and Gaara realized he wasn't under any kind of attack or restraint. His brother had simply embraced him. _He wants to hug me?_ Gaara thought, shocked, but since he had always wished someone would be affectionate toward him, he couldn't bring himself to pull away.

Apparently realizing he wouldn't be rebuffed, Kankuro ran one hand up Gaara's back to his head and tucked it against his shoulder, holding him closely.

That last sign of love proved to be Gaara's undoing — he grabbed the sides of Kankuro's nightshirt with both hands and buried his face into his brother's shoulder. "Don't lie!" he yelled, his voice muffled. He could feel tears burning his eyes, but the onslaught of nightmare images and unreality had turned his emotions into quicksand that swallowed his control, leaving him raw. He found himself blunt in his desperation. "Don't lie! Tell me if you hate me."

Kankuro hugged him tighter. "Hate you? I know I got pissed off a lot, but I'm not sure I ever truly _hated_ you. And I certainly don't now." He stroked Gaara's hair, his usual punk demeanor completely banished by his show of care. "It doesn't matter what happened in your dream; it can never change the truth of the waking world. You're my little brother, and I'm going to — to take care of you. Is that all right? I'm going to protect you for the rest of your life."

Perhaps because they were words Gaara had always wished to hear, his grip on reality slipped further like sand pouring between his fingers, and he clutched his brother's nightshirt harder. "But I killed your mother." In this pseudo-world, he somehow failed to process that she had been his mother, too. "And I hurt you."

The hand on Gaara's head paused briefly, then continued to stroke his hair. "You didn't kill our mom," Kankuro said. "Our father did that, and I blame him for it, not you. And I told you before that you don't have to apologize for who you used to be. I'm only concerned with the person you are now."

Gaara inhaled sharply, but he felt like he couldn't breathe. He turned his head slightly so he could breathe easier, but his inhalations were shallow and quick. "But I —" He gasped again, feeling like he'd suffocate in his anguish. _Wake up,_ he thought, internally screaming at himself. _Wake up!_ But which reality would he awaken to? If his brother spoke the truth, shouldn't he want to stay in this place?

"Hey," Kankuro whispered, growing still. "Take deep breaths. Slow, deep breaths. You're on the verge of hyperventilating."

Gaara did as instructed, the physical pain finally convincing him that it wasn't a dream. He became aware of his brother's measured breathing, so much steadier than his own, and even the faint smell of detergent clinging to his t-shirt. _He said he blames our father,_ he told himself, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. _But — but I was a monster. For years I kicked him away from me, threatened his life, told him go to hell._ Gaara's breath caught again, and he gasped as his lungs seized. "How can you forgive me?"

Dropping his hand from Gaara's head, Kankuro hugged him tighter and rubbed his back with one palm. "I forgave you because . . . I care about you. Forgiveness is a gift of love, not something you can earn."

Gaara tried to slow his breathing once more, but he only felt confused. Yashamaru had said something similar to him, but then he'd turned around and tried to kill him. Now Kankuro was saying the same thing. "I don't understand. Why do you care?"

"You turned to me first, remember?" Kankuro chuckled. "You turned to Temari and me and said 'I'm sorry.' You showed us you weren't a monster."

Gaara gasped, struck by the truth of the statement. _I did . . . I told them I was sorry._ With this realization, he felt suddenly exhausted, as though he would fall down if Kankuro weren't holding him. His feelings of suffocation drained from him, and with a deep breath, Gaara began to calm down. He released his hold on Kankuro's nightshirt and wrapped his arms around his waist. "I'm still sorry."

"I know," came the quiet reply. "But you don't have to be. I let it go long ago."

Gaara tried to focus on those words and relax. _He really does accept me as a brother,_he told himself, trying to drive the truth through his own head. After several minutes, he became aware of the warmness of Kankuro's embrace and the strong arms wrapped around him. An equally strong, warm hand was smoothing down his hair.

"There," Kankuro whispered, his voice unbelievably soft and kind — far more so than Gaara could have ever imagined. "That's better. See? I told you I could take care of any problem you had."

"Um-mm," Gaara mumbled. It was strange, this feeling. This awe. Someone really did care about him and was truly devoted to him. Was this it, at last? Was this feeling love?

Kankuro carefully pulled away and then grasped Gaara's shoulders in his hands. "I won't ask you right now to tell me what you dreamed. But when you're ready to talk about it, I'm here."

"Okay." Gaara felt a hint of pain at being released, but Kankuro leaned down and kissed his forehead — right on the kanji for love. His skin tingled faintly from the contact, and a snort of amusement escaped him. For a moment, he felt like a small child.

Kankuro released him and stepped back. He laughed awkwardly and ran a hand through his spiky hair. "I know. Sorry. I didn't mean to kiss you on the forehead like I was your mother." He tousled his own hair, apparently in embarrassment.

"I don't mind." Gaara glanced at his feet, feeling uncomfortable, but he still wanted Kankuro to know it was fine. "You are my _older_ brother."

Kankuro grinned, then bit his lip. "Um . . . do you want to try to sleep again?"

Gaara snorted. "Never. Again."

"I was afraid you'd say that." Kankuro grimaced. "You know you have to."

Gaara crossed his arms and looked away. "I'll have the medical ninja research a way for me to forego sleep."

Kankuro reached out and grabbed his arm. "I have a better suggestion. Why don't you just sleep in here tonight? I'll watch over you, and if it looks like you're having another nightmare I'll wake you up."

Gaara dropped his gaze to the floor, embarrassed by how much he wanted to agree to that. His brother apparently had the ability to make him feel safe.

Kankuro tugged on his arm and pulled him to the bed. "Try again. I'll be right here."

Gaara found he couldn't say no. He allowed Kankuro to pull him into the bed. His brother lay down first, then wrapped one arm around Gaara so that he could rest in the crook of his arm. Kankuro pulled the covers up over them.

"There," he said once they were settled. "I'll be right here the whole time, so go ahead and beat this."

Gaara relaxed and put his head against his brother's chest. He could hear Kankuro's heart beating steadily, and it helped him to feel drowsy and safe. In fact, he felt at home in this bedroom, unlike his own, because of his brother's presence. "Very well. I will."

This time when Gaara drifted off to sleep, his nightmares had no power over him.

* * *

_A/N: As always, thank you to Darkhelmetj for beta reading and to anyone who reads and reviews._

_I freely and openly admit that the final part of this chapter where Gaara listens to Kankuro's heart was directly inspired by Blacknbluesiren's "Tempo of Love." Please consider it a compliment, Blacknblue, that your story was so powerful that I had to include that detail in my story. To the readers: please go read "Tempo of Love." It's lovely._

_Anyway, I'm finishing up a second Gaara & Kankuro h/c story right now that will be the sequel to this one — "Requiem for Atlas."_


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